


Note To Self

by orphan_account



Series: Destiel Christmas Minibang [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drunk Dean, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Love Notes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas always leave each other little notes along with the mugs of hot chocolate - reminders of chores to reminders to take a break from homework to little pick-me-ups and "have a good day"s. It's all very friendly and platonic. </p><p>Until Dean leaves a note that's... not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Note To Self

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Destiel Christmas Minibang](http://destielchristmasminibang.tumblr.com) December 19th prompt "hot chocolate." 
> 
> Okay, so I had a little bit of fun with this one. And when I say a "little bit" I mean a lot. I had a lot of fun with this one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dean’s alarm goes off at six-fifteen, and he grumbles as he rolls over to turn off the too-cheery Christmas music that comes from his clock. What self-respecting rock station plays _Christmas_ music, anyway? He lays on his stomach for another minute before pushing himself up and out of bed.

He’s dressed in jeans, AC/DC tee, and a red over shirt when he makes his way to the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his freshly-shaved face, and smiles at the steaming cup of hot chocolate with peppermint that waits for him on the breakfast bar. Sliding a hand around the warm mug, he pulls the Post-It from the handle and reads the short note his housemate left for him as he sips at the drink.

_Dishes, Dean. I will not tell you again._

Dean snorts and eyes the pile of plates sitting in the sink. He should probably do those if they want to eat dinner tonight – Cas bought stuff for enchiladas, and Dean _loves_ Cas’ enchiladas.

Finishing the hot chocolate, Dean takes the mug to the sink and runs the hot water.

He’s out the door at seven-fifty, whistling along to _Holly, Jolly Christmas_ and the sink is clear once again.

* * *

Cas flips through his textbooks lazily, notes spread out on the coffee table in front of him and a pen behind his ear. He chews on his lip as he hums along to _O Holy Night_ and occasionally pulls out his highlighter to mark passages to use in his essay. His laptop sits next to his notes, Word open to his paper.

A mug is set next to his feet propped up on the coffee table, and he looks up to smile at Dean as his housemate passes through the living room and to the door, heading to work. He puts his textbook aside to pick up the warm mug, and he inhales the smell of cocoa and cinnamon. The note on the lip makes him roll his eyes.

_Take a break, nerd. You’ve got 12 out of 7 pages; I think you’re good._

Cas looks over to his computer, sipping his drink. The warm, rich liquid soothes his throat, and he hums contentedly.

Half an hour later, Cas saves his work and takes his mug to the kitchen so he can wash it and grab a snack. The final page count is at nine, and a half more for the conclusion.

* * *

“Oh, my god, Dean,” Cas groans. “This is why you shouldn’t do shots. You get _shitfaced_.”

“’M not shitfaced,” Dean protests. He hiccups, leaning against Cas. “There is no shit on my face right now.”

But maybe he’s a little drunk. Just a little.

He stumbles through the front door, giggling and hanging onto Cas as Cas drags him into their house with a grunt. He can practically _feel_ Cas’ eyes rolling into the back of his head, and he giggles again at the image in his brain. He tilts his head to lay it on Cas’ shoulder, and suddenly he doesn’t want to move his feet anymore – his legs feel like jelly, and he slumps, letting Cas carry most of his weight as he’s dragged through the house to his room.

He sticks his nose in Cas’ neck, nuzzling beneath his jaw and up to the dark hair that curls behind his ear. “Mm, y’smell good, Cas. Like… like _clean,_ y’know? Like rain. And cinnamon. I like cinnamon. ‘Specially with apples. Mm, cinnamon-apple. Like _pie._ ”

Cas huffs a laugh, and it sounds exasperated, or maybe sad, Dean’s not sure. Which is weird, because Cas is never sad. Except when Douche Canoe McAssbutt dumped him – Dean had come home to find him in silent tears, curled up on the couch with a tub of ice cream. Rocky Road, his favorite.

Dean had seriously considered the merits of murder for a week after that, but Cas talked him out of it.

Dean is brought out of his musings when Cas dumps him on his bed, and he lands with an _oomph._ He giggles again, rolling over and grinning up at his best friend as Cas undoes his boots and takes them off. Cas pulls him out of his shirts next, and he wiggles his hips invitingly when Cas goes to undo his belt.

“Mm, y’know I like it when y’undress me, Cas,” he purrs, though it’s more of a slur, and Cas rolls his eyes, tugging his belt out from the loops a with a little more force than necessary.

“You,” Cas admonishes with a light, fond smack to his head; his fingers card gently through Dean’s hair, and his eyes are soft and sad as he looks at Dean, “need to stop coming on to me when you’re drunk.”

His voice is rueful, and Dean feels like Cas is saying something other than the words coming out of his mouth, but the hazy fog in his brain is making it hard to think, so he just whines and rolls over as Cas pulls his jeans off, burying his face in his pillow that does not smell like rain and cinnamon. He misses it.

The last thing Dean is aware of is his comforter being tossed over him, a soft kiss against his temple followed by a “Goodnight, Dean” from Cas, and he sighs into his pillow as he curls his arms under it.

When he wakes up the next morning, Dean groans at his pounding head. He turns it to look at his bedside table when he inhales the smell of chocolate and peppermint, and he immediately takes the pills sitting on top of the note tucked under the mug, sipping his drink and squinting to make out the words Cas wrote for him.

_The next time you decide shots are a good idea, you’re undressing yourself._

Dean flushes in embarrassment as he fuzzily recalls his drunken antics, and he thanks whatever higher being may be out there – yet again – that Cas is so comfortable putting up with his silly ass.

Something niggles at the back of his mind, like he’s missed something, and he frowns, trying to think. It hits him as he finishes his hot chocolate, and he nearly drops his mug in his epiphany.

Cas had said _while you’re drunk._ Not just _don’t come onto me,_ but specifically _while you’re drunk._

God, Dean’s had a crush on Cas since they met in high school. It’s only gotten worse over the years – or maybe _stronger_ is the better word; _worse_ has bad connotations and Dean’s feelings aren’t _bad_ – and he’s only not said anything because Cas hasn’t shown interest one way or the other.

Except, Dean thinks, he kind of has. The staring matches and the gentle touches and the soft smiles and the unconditional support and care and the _goddamn hot chocolate._

And last night. Dean was a giggly, flirty drunk, and he’d definitely been flirting with Cas – it was the only time he ever flirted with Cas so openly: under the influence – and Cas had seemed… sad. Rueful. Like he wished… Well, like he wished Dean meant it and that it wasn’t just the antics of a drunk man.

He’s not sure if he’s reading it right or if it’s just wishful thinking borne from his own feelings, and he bites his lip as he wonders if he should make anything of it. _Only one way to know,_ he decides, and he takes his mug to the kitchen as his alarm starts playing _All I Want for Christmas Is You._

* * *

Cas is running _late._ God, he knows he shouldn’t have binged _Hannibal_ straight through but Sam and Charlie and _everyone_ kept telling him he needed to because _Murder husbands, Cas. You need the murder husbands._

Fucking murder husbands and the _feels,_ he seethes to himself, yanking on his sweater and running a hand through his hair. He glares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, frowning at the circles under his eyes, and walks out with a huff. He grabs his wallet from his dresser and is in the foyer reaching for his coat when he sees the thermos on the table that holds their keyring bowl, a Post-It on the side.

A smile immediately pulls up his lips as he wraps his hands around the warm metal, inhaling the aroma, and he pulls the note off as he takes a sip. He nearly chokes on it as he reads what Dean left him:

_You’re cute when you snore, you know? It’s one of my favorite things I love about you._

Cas stares at the note, utterly flabbergasted. _Cute when you snore?_ What does it mean? What is Dean playing at? His stomach gives a little flip as he reads it again and again, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he runs his finger over the last bit – _I love about you._

He wonders briefly when he’s been asleep in Dean’s presence to allow him to hear Cas snore, and he rolls his eyes when he thinks about only every time after a test or final when he and Dean would curl up on the couch to celebrate with pizza and Harrison Ford movies, and Cas would drop off with his head in Dean’s lap a movie and a half in. Or when Cas drags himself in from classes and collapses in bed, and Dean’s right there with a mug of cocoa and a soothing hand.

Come to think of it, Cas falls asleep on Dean a lot. It’s just… comfortable. Secure. Safe. _Home._

He looks at the last bit of the note again. _I love about you._ Biting his lip, he lets his finger cover part of it, and his breath catches.

_I love you._

The grandfather clock in the living room begins chiming, and Cas starts, shoving the note into his pocket and shrugging into his coat as he rushes out the door, thermos and keys in hand, laptop bag over his shoulder. He’s so fucking late, but his grin is big as he takes another sip from his cinnamon hot cocoa.

* * *

“Cas! I’m home!” Dean calls, shrugging out of his jacket as he enters their house. He hangs it on the coatrack, wiping a hand over his face as he tosses his keys in the bowl and makes his way farther inside.

“Cas?” he calls again when he receives no response. He frowns, walking to the kitchen. Cas is supposed to be home by now – he’d texted Dean that his classes let out early so he’d be home first, and he’d told Dean he’d have dinner ready when Dean got home.

So far, no Cas.

There _is_ food, though, and Dean relaxes when he hears the shower running. He inhales the smell of grilled meat and fresh cinnamon-apple pie, and his mouth waters as he eyes the platter of burger patties set out on the counter, surrounded by condiments and plates of crisp lettuce and tomatoes and onions. The pie sits on the warming tray by the stove, beautifully golden and oozing filling.

“Wow, Cas,” Dean murmurs to himself, rubbing his neck. Not that he isn’t grateful or anything, but this seems… excessive? No, more like… “special occasion” maybe? Yeah, special occasion.

Dean racks his brain for the date, trying to think if he’s forgotten an anniversary or birthday or something. It’s the middle of March, his birthday was in January, Sammy’s is in May (and Cas would have said if he was inviting Sam over to celebrate, anyway), and Cas’ is in September, so birthdays are out. They met officially in November of freshmen year, so it’s not the anniversary of their friendship, either.

Well, that’s everything he knows of, so it has to be something else. Something Dean isn’t aware of. Yet, at least. He snorts – he certainly will be after today.

He glances around their kitchen, looking at all the prepared food, and his eyes land on the still steaming mug on the end of the breakfast bar. Dean smiles, walking over to it and lifting it to his lips to sip at. The usual Post-It is stuck to the bar, and Dean tilts his head to read it.

_Note to self: tell Dean I love him_

The mug slips from his hand, and arms wrap around his waist to catch it before it shatters against the tile floor. They set the mug carefully on the bar again, before folding around Dean and pulling him against a soft, strong body. Dean feels Cas nuzzle against his neck, hands gripping tight to the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Cas?” he manages, voice cracking on the single syllable.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas murmurs against his ear, pressing a kiss behind it. Dean’s heart skips a beat, and his breath hitches. “I love you. I love you. _I love you._ ”

Dean finally finds the mind to turn around in Cas’ arms, looking into wide blue eyes gazing at him tenderly, but with slight apprehension. Like Cas is preparing himself for rejection. Heartbreak.

Well. They can’t have that.

Lips pulling up in a small, soft smile, Dean tilts his head down just enough to brush them against Cas’ chapped ones.

“Say it again,” he whispers against Cas’ mouth, and Cas smiles.

“I love you.”

* * *

Cas wakes up to the smell of cocoa and cinnamon, and he smiles as soft kisses are trailed over his bare shoulder blade, ghosting across the nape of his neck and up to his jaw where Dean’s mouth lingers in a grin.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

Cas rolls over, bringing a hand up to cup Dean’s cheek and pull his head down for a real kiss, deep and slow. They linger against each other even after their lips stop moving together, simply breathing one another’s air as their foreheads rest against each other, eyes closed.

When Cas opens his eyes, Dean is already watching him contentedly, a goofy smile on his face. Cas grins back, stealing another kiss.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, winking as he reaches over to the bedside table and comes back with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, one with a Post-It on the side. Cas chuckles, taking the warm ceramic into his hands and turning it so he can read Dean’s note.

_Note to self: tell Cas I love him too_

Cas bites his lip and looks up into his favorite green eyes, framed in long lashes and surrounded by freckles. Dean’s cheeks are flushed as he leans forward to press a soft kiss to Cas’ temple, then his cheek, then his lips once more.

“I love you, too, Cas,” he murmurs. “God, I love you, too.”

It’s the first time their hot chocolate has ever gone cold. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [leviathncas](http://leviathncas.tumblr.com)


End file.
